


And In The Past It Remains (For Now, It Can Stay.)

by CescaLR



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, As well, Break Up, Breaking and Entering, Developing Relationship, Difficult Decisions, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm not one for a cheating storyline thank u very much, M/M, Manipulation, No Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Relationship(s), Season/Series 05, Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate Break Up, Theo is a Little Shit, bad things are afoot tbh, i mean he's worse than that but he's that, i'm just gonna say that right now, it's a Major Plot Point otherwise how tf do i go to Steo lbr, lmao that's a tag?? amazing, ok? cool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21515152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: "Malia said no, too."
Relationships: (I'm lazy), (Kind of) - Relationship, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Stiles Stilinski & The McCall Pack, Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Stiles Stilinski/Theo Raeken, The McCall Pack - Relationship, past - Stiles & Heather & Theo, past - Stiles/Heather
Comments: 6
Kudos: 100





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> Let's actually try writing some proper Steo, shall we? Stiles/Malia is here because I love them and can't ignore their canonicity and besides, I think it makes the storyline more interesting, to have the complication of Stiles' failing relationship with Malia in s5 in the middle of this mess. 
> 
> Angst abounds, fair warning.

"Malia said no, too," Theo said. Stiles stopped in his tracks and for a moment, thought ' _what' -_ and then, he rammed Theo against the wall, forearm braced harshly against his neck.

"What did you just say?" Stiles demanded.

"I thought it'd be nice to know your girlfriend is as loyal as you," Theo said, smirking, a complete and total fucking _rat bastard._ Stiles pressed his arm harder against Theo's neck, tense and angry.

"What the fuck is your _angle?_ " Stiles demanded, because he _really didn't know,_ and it was - frustrating and annoying and _maddening_ that he couldn't figure it out, not quite, not properly. He knew Theo was bad news, knew it from the moment he showed up sending warning bells ringing in Stiles' head, from the moment the words _'I know about Donovan'_ fell past his lips, from the moment he ripped out Josh's throat, from the moment -

From the moment he did this. From all of the moments, from every single fucking time Stiles has seen his face or heard his voice since Theo showed up again - Stiles has known he was bad news. 

What bad news he entailed, though, was a more difficult question to answer. 

"I've told you before," Theo said, with difficulty, half-choking on the words. "All I want is for you guys to trust me."

" _Bullshit,"_ Stiles scowled, angry as anything. Theo laughed, leaned forward, his unfortunate supernatural strength able to easily overpower Stiles' fucking _useless_ human effort. His nose brushed Stiles' and Stiles hadn't realised how close -

Stiles leaned his head back, just enough, and Theo smirked like he'd won some small battle Stiles hadn't known they were fighting. 

He did that all the time, though. Stiles wondered if he did it just to seem more in control than he actually was, or if it meant _exactly_ what it looked like it did. 

"How d'you think Scott would react?" Theo asked. Stiles shoved him against the wall again, and Theo - fucking _laughed_ when his head hit the brick. 

"He'd tell you he loves Kira," Stiles said, "And then let you down gently, because Scott's a fucking _nice person,_ unlike _you."_

"Good thing I wouldn't want to ask him, then," Theo said. He pushed against Stiles' arm with ease, and Stiles suddenly wondered why he hadn't tried to shove him off with his hands, which Stiles hadn't bothered to restrain. Not that he _could._ Fucking werewolves. 

He pushed against Stiles' arm, but he didn't move it, just leant closer, and Stiles had to step back if he didn't want to be pushed with the movement, shoved off-kilter and off-balance. 

"You don't trust me," Theo said, "And you don't have to. But you at least need to accept that I'm _on your side._ "

"No you aren't," Stiles snapped, "What the fuck? You _propositioned my girlfriend!"_

"And she said _no,"_ Theo said. "Don't tell me you _weren't_ worried. You _reek_ of it."

"That's called _anxiety, dumbass,"_ Stiles snapped, shoved back against Theo, who went willingly back to the wall. _Fuck_ him. Stiles is just fucking _human,_ and right now he dearly wishes, if nothing else, he was strong enough to have any genuine _control._

"If you told her to 'not worry, go have fun,'" Theo said, "What would she say?"

_Fun like bowling, or sex with other guys?_

"Well that's a stupid statement anyway," Stiles said. "I mean, _I'd_ take it that way."

Theo grinned, sharp, victorious, and Stiles wanted to smack himself over the head. What the fuck possessed - hah - him to say **that**?

"So," Theo said, "Neither of you actually _care,_ then?"

"Of course we fucking _care,"_ Stiles pressed his forearm against Theo's neck, much harder than before. He _cared,_ damn it, _so much_. Malia meant the world to him.

"Didn't mean it like that," Theo choked out, and Stiles was still very bothered as to why he was putting up with this. He'd stopped Stiles restraining him before; he could do it again. Stiles didn't _want_ him to, obviously - but it was bothersome as to _why_ he wasn't. 

Stiles, almost despite himself, found some kind of comfort in at least the _illusion_ of control it gave him.

Stiles lay off, slightly, the force he was pressing on Theo's throat, and the werewolf took a breath - not quite a gasp for air, but _close._

"You going soft on me?" Theo asked, and Stiles shoved him back against the wall again. 

"Fuck _off,"_ Stiles said. " _Fuck **you**."_

"Fuck me," Theo agreed, grinning, and Stiles really shouldn't have left that so wide open for innuendo, he really _shouldn't._

"I hate you so _much_ ," Stiles said, frankly, but with far, far too much emotion. 

"No you don't," Theo said. "But if you lie to yourself enough about it, it might be true. Eventually." Theo chuckled, neck straining against Stiles' forearm. "Honestly, though - you could _never_ hate me." Theo flashed a smile, all teeth, but _genuine;_ like he believed the words he said. 

Stiles swallowed, uncomfortable, and Theo's eyes darted down to track the movement.

"You have no idea how capable I am of hate," Stiles said. 

"Of _course_ I do," Theo said. "I listened to you rant about Rafael and Elias enough when we were kids to know how _spiteful_ you can get."

Stiles hated Theo _so much._

"We were _friends,_ Stiles," Theo said. "Can't I just want that back?"

"Asking me to have sex with you is a funny way to go about it," Stiles said. "Asking _my girlfriend_ to have sex with you is a _stupid way to go about it."_

"Maybe it would be with anybody else," Theo said. "But you tend to _like_ your friends."

Stiles stiffened, shoulders straightening, posture less hunched, his arm pressing harder against Theo's neck. 

Theo made a choking noise, and finally fucking did something other than just stand there - but maybe it was worse because all he did was raise one hand and place it on Stiles' bicep. A firm hold, not a tight grip – but his fingers flexed, as if a reminder; Stiles is not the physically stronger one, of the two of them.

"Lydia," Theo said, "Was an outlier. But - Heather, Scott, Malia... you can't tell me you didn't have any kind of attraction to Allison, and that you don't think Kira's pretty, and that you didn't like Erica -"

"I don't like Scott like _that,"_ Stiles said. "He's -"

" _Straight,"_ Theo said. 

"No, you idiot," Stiles said. 

"Well, not that _he_ knows that." Stiles scoffed. "I think Scott knows himself better than _you_ do."

Theo shrugged. "Suit yourself," He said. "But you have a pattern." His lips quirk up. "Beautiful people herd together, right?"

Stiles couldn't have stepped back anymore, even if he wanted to - Theo's grip was tight and unrelenting on his arm, so if he let go, all he was doing was giving Theo the advantage. 

"No wonder you're having trouble joining the pack," Stiles snapped back, quick-fire. 

Theo laughed again, dropped his head back against the brick wall. He smirked, lazily, at Stiles, and Stiles kept his eyes on Theo's, deliberately focused, cautiously avoiding any other focal point. 

"So, it's a _no,_ then?" Theo asked.

Stiles shoved closer, pressing his arm as hard as he could against Theo's neck. Theo's hand tightened its grip, and Stiles felt the tell-tale prick of claws against his skin. Damn it. He'd liked this hoodie. 

" _Fucking obviously,"_ Stiles spat, and Theo grinned, stopped pushing against Stiles' throat, and Stiles' arm forced an aborted noise out of Theo, who's breathing was short and quick, but who's smirk still looked like he had all the cards and Stiles' hand was the worst one possible. 

"Then _get your leg from between my thighs,_ Stiles," Theo said. 

Stiles stepped back as if burned, and Theo's hand dropped from his arm, the prickling sense of pressing claws vanishing, and the strain of pressing his arm against Theo's throat disappearing in an instant. 

Theo was still smirking at him, his head leaning back against the wall, looking up. Stiles glared, heatedly, and Theo's smirk widened.

"We should get going," Theo said, easily, straightening up and stepping away from the wall - but, in turn, closer to Stiles. He wouldn't let Theo win by stepping back, giving ground, but Stiles couldn't help tensing up as his arm brushed Stiles’. Theo continued; "Someone's bound to notice the CCTV was tampered with at some point." He flashed a smirk Stiles’ way.

Right. What they'd been here for. CCTV. Erasing evidence. Nobody'd looked at the night Donovan was killed, otherwise Stiles would be locked away right about now, but... it was a precaution. He couldn't afford being caught. And - and as much as it rankled, _they_ couldn't afford being caught, so they - they were going to have to go _alter_ the Hospital's CCTV, or at least check if they were present on the cameras while dragging a dead body through the building, spattered with blood. 

Stiles grimaced, looked away and started walking. Time to get the other footage 'fixed'.

Theo kept pace with him, easily, despite their difference in height, because while Stiles was taller, Theo was _supernaturally fast,_ and also a gym rat. 

The walk back to the jeep - Stiles' jeep, not Theo's and it was aggravating he had one - was quick but, unfortunately, not painless; silence Stiles could deal with, and in fact despite what you might think he did _welcome it,_ fairly often, but right now it just emphasised the fact that Theo was apparently on a mission to test Stiles' patience - or at least make him as uncomfortable as possible; you couldn't walk any closer beside Stiles without fucking falling over, frankly. They might as well be doing a three-legged race, and most of Stiles' attention was, unfortunately, on Theo, so that Stiles didn't trip up and fall flat on his face. That would be frustrating and embarrassing and honestly pretty humiliating, so - paying attention. 

Alas.

Stiles was grateful for the distance when Theo moved to go in the passenger side of the Jeep, and therefore stopped acting like a limpet to Stiles' right side. Stiles dropped into the driver's seat, slammed his door shut at about the same time as Theo shut his, and then Stiles started the engine. Or, tried to. It sputtered, he cursed and tried again - and again, and then it worked. 

"You should get that fixed," Theo said. Stiles grunted because admitting he couldn't afford to do that... was not something he could afford to do. Not to Theo.

Stiles put the car into gear and pressed on the gas, drove out of the 7/11 car park and down the street. They'd go the back way - the scenic route if you were - because fewer people took it to get to the hospital. They'd leave the car a street or two away, as well.

Just in case. 

… Which meant having to walk next to Theo again. _Great._ Stiles prepared himself mentally, as they drove in near-total silence. 

The police radio crackled, and Stiles glanced at it. 

_"Dispatch-"_ Theo switched it off, and Stiles glared at him, having not grabbed his wrist in time to stop him. Theo's fingers flexed, but he didn't try to remove Stiles' hand. 

"We've got other things to worry about," Theo reminded him. "What if that was about us breaking into the school?" Stiles pointed out, angrily.

"It wasn't," Theo said, calmly. There were no other cars on the road, and Stiles didn't hear any sirens. This was the best route to the school from the sheriff's station, so after a minute of still nothing, Stiles relaxed, a bit. 

Just a bit. 

"Both hands on the wheel, Stiles," Theo said. Stiles' hand tensed around Theo’s wrist - then he let go, and placed it back on the gear shift. Stiles pressed on the gas, went up to the max limit, and then eased off on the pedal.

"How many tickets have you got?" Theo asked. "Ignoring your dad's corruption, that is."

Stiles' teeth ground against each other, loud to his own ears - and probably to Theo's heightened senses, too. Damn it. 

"Seventeen," Stiles admitted, for reasons he can't fathom. 

"Must be nice," Theo said. "Not having to worry about losing your licence."

Stiles scoffed. "Yes, because lying to my dad every day is so _great."_

"Trade-off," Theo said. Stiles saw him turn his head, through his peripheral vision, eyes focused on Stiles’ profile. Stiles tried to pay the most attention to the road, but - it was. Distracting. 

His expression was strange. One could call it soft if you didn't know Theo.

(…Or maybe if you knew him better than Stiles does.

Did.)

Stiles kept his eyes on the road, straight ahead. "Not one that's worth it," Stiles said. 

"I guess." Theo looked away, and Stiles felt mildly relieved. 

It was silent, again, in the car, aside from their breathing. Theo could probably hear their heartbeats, pounding away in their chests. Stiles hopes his isn't rabbit-fast, hopes his anxiety isn't making itself known for once; hopes he sounds as calm as he wants to be.

Stiles jolted, looked down - and Theo's hand was on his, quickly moving the gearstick. "Drive," Theo said, urgently. Theo dropped his hand and Stiles moved his, grabbed the wheel and did a u-turn, pressed his foot to the pedal as hard as he could, the jeep practically flying down the road. Stiles took the first turn, drove as far as he could, then the next right, and then the next left, left, right - then down the dirt path that led, safely, away from the town, towards the old military base. 

Stiles stopped, halfway down the dirt road, trees on all sides, and then glanced at Theo. 

"What was it?" Stiles asked, momentarily berating himself for not asking first, for just - taking Theo's word for it. 

"Sirens," Theo said. "Too close for comfort."

Stiles attempted to - not quite relax into his seat, but release the tension in his shoulders, to allow himself to lean against the backrest, instead of sitting up, tensely leaning towards the wheel, back straight and hands white-knuckled.

"Right," Stiles said, breathing slowly. 

"We should be fine," Theo said. "If we're careful." 

Stiles nodded, absently. He flexed his hands on the wheel, then moved his right onto the gearstick, ready to drive back to the hospital. The car was compliant, for once, as he drove, softly rumbling in the silence of the night. Stiles could hear Theo, breathing, to his right, and the sounds of distant cars, from the direction of the city. Beacon Hills wasn't big, but it wasn't small, and it was busier than you'd think, especially at night.

Still. Sometimes, like now, when driving in the dark down deserted streets - it felt like a ghost town. 

"You up for this?" Theo asked. "I'll keep watch again."

"Fine," Stiles said. "You do that."

It was silent in the jeep, as they drove. Two streets away from the Hospital, no other interruptions from loud, blaring sirens having happened, Stiles parks the jeep in a side-alley. The industrial sector pretty much hugs the back of the hospital, so they're decently far into its deserted self that the jeep won't be found easily. Stiles just knows his way around here - and, if he's got a good memory, Theo should too. 

Stiles got out of the jeep. Once Theo's door slammed quietly shut, Stiles locked the car up and then started walking. 

"Alright," Stiles said. "You're the lookout. I'll erase the footage, and then we're done."

Theo's arm brushed against his, again, as he passed Stiles. He took out his phone, and a moment later Stiles' started ringing.

"Give me five minutes," Theo said, into the phone, and Stiles heard the same words half-echoed through his own after he answered, starting halfway through the sentence. 

"Fine." Stiles stopped, once the hospital was in sight. Theo nodded, and walked over to the door, putting in his earphones and pocketing his phone in his hoodie. Five minutes later, Stiles heard more than just the rustling of fabric and the background noise of the hospital. 

"Side door's open," Theo said. "Round back."

Stiles went around the back, and sure enough, the door halfway down the wall was open _just_ enough to notice. Stiles slipped inside. This was risky, but it had to be done. 

Stiles left the door open, careful not to touch it with his hands - fingerprints would be a problem - as he entered, and then walked down the hall. "I'm inside," He said, simply. He heard two taps, meaning Theo was in too public a place to respond audibly. He waited, and a minute later Theo took the phone out of his pocket and sent Stiles a message. 

Two security staff in the CCTV room. Drat. Stiles squinted at the picture, grainy and half interrupted by fabric as it was - discrete pictures were never of the highest quality. 

"Well," Stiles said, quietly. "That’s unfortunate."

Theo huffed, something kind of like the start of a laugh, soft and quiet. "You don't say," He said. "I'll deal with it."

"Don't -" Stiles said, but the call disconnected. He glared at the wall across and kicked it in annoyance, which only made his day worse because kicking walls _hurts._

"Fuck," Stiles said, then groaned in annoyance. "You _asshole."_

Stiles waited, standing in the middle of a staff-only hallway like a total buffoon. But, he was alone. This hallway was one that wasn't often used, and on top of that they hadn't been careful enough when installing the security cameras; there was a blind spot, at the entrance. If you got inside the hallway quietly, you could stick a picture of the empty hallway over the camera. And nobody would know, until they checked the footage, and if this went well - they wouldn't. they never did, Stiles is pretty sure, or they'd all be in a lot more trouble than they are. After all, a big fight had happened here, and someone that looked like Stiles had caused a mass-murder scene, but... nothing ever came of it. 

Still. It's better to be cautious. 

(Paranoid, maybe.)

Stiles looked at the CCTV, with the picture covering it. He grimaced. At least it was covered visually - the sound of him kicking the wall was a problem. He'd whispered when he'd spoken because he's not a _total_ idiot, but he'd likely have to erase - or loop - this, too, just to be on the safe side. 

Stiles' phone vibrated in his pocket. Stiles took it out, held it up to his ear after accepting the call.

"Ready," Theo said.

"Fuck you," Stiles snapped, harshly, quietly, "What did you do?"

"Distracted them," Theo said. "Get over here. Now. Before they come back."

Stiles made his way to the security room, quickly but unhurriedly, making sure he didn't look too suspicious. He saw Melissa at one point and had to make a quick detour to a nearby room - thankfully empty - while he waited for her to leave, but after that, it was smooth sailing. 

Stiles found the hall outside the security office deserted, and thus quickly slipped inside before anyone could see him do so.

"Finally." Theo turned away from the displays. "Melissa see you?"

"You should know," Stiles said. "No, she didn't."

"Just making sure," Theo said. "Come on. I'll watch. You erase."

Stiles got to work, erasing and looping footage. He knew the time and dates he needed, which was good, but he also wanted to check...

Hmm. The cameras had been cut out, during the fight with the Alphas and the Darach. And they'd short-circuited when the nogitsune took over, it looked like, like how the lights had faltered and started flickering and everything that wasn't absolutely necessary failed at not breaking. Stiles swallowed past the guilt, as he moved away from checking for that footage, and went to the time of Josh's death. He carefully looped and erased and reversed footage, that he could, to cover his own tracks, and also Theo's, because he had to. Alibis, and unfortunately, given all the blackmail, they had to be that for each other. 

Once Stiles was done, he wiped down the keyboard and mouse. Theo switched the displays back to what they'd been looking at originally, then wiped down the remote. Stiles stood back, then looked at Theo after glancing at the screens, to see if anyone was coming to the room.

"What was the distraction?" Stiles asked.

"Doesn't matter, does it?" Theo asked. "Come on."

It didn't, really. Stiles left the room after Theo, cautious. They both made their way down and out of the building, finding a secluded, camera-less room, then climbed out of the window. 

The lack of a camera in Peter's old room was useful. And telling. 

Stiles and Theo walked in silence back to the jeep. Theo's was stored in the parking complex near the mall, and so Stiles put his jeep into gear and turned right, down the road that would lead them there.

"So it's done with," Theo said. "We can relax about it now."

Stiles scoffed, loudly. 

"I can," Theo amended. "See, this is why you should move out."

"And where the hell would I live?" Stiles asked, exasperated. "I'm still in high-school, just like you, and frankly, Dad would be _more_ suspicious if I just up and moved out."

Theo shrugged. "Adulthood," He said. "Independence. I'm just saying, for now, while it's still fresh, it's safer to be around him less."

Stiles scowled. "Well that works out great, then," He said, "Since he works so much at the station, I don't see him that often anyway."

Theo turned his head, looked at Stiles' profile again. "Useful," He said. "But I'm guessing you aren't pleased. Do you see him more or less than when we were younger?"

"Less," Stiles said. "If only because -"

"He's a sheriff now," Theo said. "And a _functional_ alcoholic." 

Stiles' hands tightened on the wheel. "He's not an alcoholic." Stiles stared straight ahead, ignored Theo's scoff.

"Noah's an alcoholic, and you know it," Theo said. "He's functional, now, sure, a lot better than after your mom -"

" _Shut up_ ," Stiles said, and wonder of wonders, but he actually did. 

The drive was quiet, after that. When they arrived, Stiles unlocked the doors but stared straight ahead at the other cars in the car park. 

"We're here," He said, unnecessarily, to fill the silence. 

"Yeah." Theo didn't move to leave. Stiles looked over. Theo was looking at him, an expression he couldn't properly decipher spread across his face. 

Quicker than he could react, Theo reached over and covered Stiles' hand with his own, squeezed minutely for a moment - and then turned, got up, and dropped out of the jeep. 

"Sorry," Stiles had heard before the door shut. Stiles stared after him; bewildered, off-kilter, caught off-guard by the action. 

Stiles didn't move until Theo's jeep disappeared down to the next level of the car park. He flexed his grip on the gearstick, then turned on the ignition, put the car into gear, and pressed on the gas pedal, headed home.

* * *

"You smell funny," Malia announced, the next morning. She hadn't slipped off elsewhere, not today, but she also hadn't been here when he collapsed into bed, last night. Thankfully, because if she had been – Stiles didn’t want to have to lie to her about where he was all evening. Spending his Sunday with _Theo,_ of all people, wasn’t something Stiles would willingly _do,_ so he had – very little to work with, in the way of plausible, verifiable absence.

"Anxiety, remember?" Stiles said, tilting his head at her. She looked - tired. Not physically, just, _tired_. 

"Not like that," She said. "Just..."

Stiles blinked at her. She shrugged, looked away. "See you at school," She said, and absconded out the window. 

Stiles sighed, sat up properly, pushed the duvet off his legs, then swung them off the side of the bed. He sat there, slightly hunched over, for a moment, closed his eyes in resignation. 

His shoulder twinged. Or, rather – the scabbed over, likely permanent scar of a bite did.

He sighed.

Stiles stood, rubbed at his shoulder through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, as he grabbed clothes from the dresser and then changed into them. He went and cleaned his teeth, got some breakfast, and picked up his back-pack. Dropping into the driver's seat of his jeep, he deposited the bag on the passenger seat and ignored the pang that Malia wasn't there instead.

It was fine. _They_ were fine. 

Even if they weren't really talking, lately. 

Stiles turned the key in the ignition, cursing when it didn't start. It didn't on the second, third, fourth, and then Stiles took out his screwdriver and hotwired the car to life out of exasperation. It took a short time to get to school, and once there, he grabbed his bag and - scowled at the jeep in the parking spot next to him. Theo was here already. 

Stiles got out of the jeep, slammed the door shut and locked the car. He went into school, alone. They didn't all arrive around the same time, lately.

Stiles was worried about them falling apart. These days, it feels like he had every right to be. Now, though... he's just tired. As tired as Malia looked this morning, in the same way that he thinks she was. 

Emotionally. An… existential sort of lethargy.

They’d been through too much, Stiles thought, not for the first time, as he walked into homeroom, sat at his desk, and didn’t think about the fact that he hadn’t spoken to any of his friends yet, this morning, despite how this routine used to go, not even a month in the past.

* * *

Stiles hadn’t skateboarded in years. It wasn’t an activity he found fun alone – it just left him open to the sharp attacks of his own thoughts. No, Stiles much preferred to skate with a friend or two – and none of his friends skated. The only friend he’d ever had that did skate was Theo. And that was… a long time ago.

Stiles found Theo in the old ‘skate park’. It wasn’t a skate park, really, just an unfinished and abandoned public pool slapped down between the industrial sector and downtown – not three streets away from the actually, you know, finished and water-having pool. People had at some point decided ‘fuck it’ and made this place out to be a bit more fitting for the skateboarding aficionado, or whatever, and that was that. Nobody technically owned it, and nobody would, because – well, the people who owned it did still exist, that company. They just didn’t _do_ anything, anymore. Anyway. That ‘at some point’ was the early nineties, and so the ‘skate park’ was just a fixture in Stiles’ memory, like the preserve, or the hospital, or the station.

It hadn’t changed since he was last here, and that was – god. Eight years ago? Maybe. So much had happened, Stiles couldn’t quite recall.

“Stillinski,” Stiles heard - surprise colouring the word. “That’s me,” Stiles said. “Haven’t seen you around here for a while.” The man said, and Stiles squinted at him – oh, right. He owned the only shop in town that sold skateboards and other equipment for similar sorts of activity.

“Henderson,” Stiles said, and the guy nodded. “That’s right,” He said. “Man, what – that’s going on, what, ten years now?”

“About,” Stiles agreed. He looked around the area. This was a bad idea, he knows. It’s just… nostalgia. Theo coming back, mentioning Heather, it’s just…

Stiles is _weak_ when it comes to emotions about people he once knew.

“Sorry to hear,” Henderson said. “Been a few – but, I’m still sorry to hear about Heather.”

Stiles closed his eyes, briefly. It was late, but it was – appreciated. “Me too,” Stiles said.

The guy inclined his head, in gesture. Stiles glanced where he was indicating, and sure enough, Theo was sat on the edge of the pool, looking their way.

Great. Now Stiles can’t just walk away and pretend he hadn’t come here.

“Like a reunion, eh?” Henderson said. “Does he know?”

“He knows,” Stiles said, sharply.

“Oh,” Henderson looked – quietly sad. The kind of sad you get at seeing things go poorly in other people’s lives. Stiles remembers – he remembers buying knee-pads one day when Theo was looking for a new board. Heather had gotten enough pocket money for some ice-cream for all three of them, and permission to hang out with them. Her – her family had never liked Theo’s all that much, so it was only rarely the three of them, but… it had been a good day.

Stiles smashed that memory back down with extreme prejudice born of – just, years of experience, and shrugged. “What can you say,” Stiles said. “People don’t always get along after a decade of not seeing each other. Funny, that.”

“But you’re here,” Henderson pointed out.

But he’s here. Stiles looked away from the man’s probing, knowing eyes.

Nostalgia. But Heather’s dead, and Theo’s a murderer, and Stiles isn’t much better.

That’s what they got, Stiles thinks. For thinking nothing would ever change. Not like this. Touch wood, and all that, but Stiles hadn’t been superstitious. He isn’t now, really, but paranoia works just as well.

“So I am.” Stiles looked back at Henderson.

“Well, he’s looking straight at you,” Henderson said. “I won’t keep you, man. Go talk to him. Friendship like what you had –“ He shook his head. “It’s sad when that dies.”

“It’s dead,” Stiles said, more for Theo’s ears than Henderson’s. “Trust me.”

“Then why are you here?” Henderson said. “I don’t see a skateboard on your person.”

“I haven’t owned one in a while.” Stiles looked left, caught Theo looking right at him, and held that gaze with his own. “And… I guess it’s just nostalgia.”

“Memories being brought back up, huh?” Henderson sighed. “I’m sorry, Stilinski, for what it’s worth.”

Not much, but Stiles doesn’t hear that often. Oh, people do apologise – but not about Heather. Losing her wasn’t… something people seemed to care about. Not that they’d had the time to, and Stiles doesn’t blame anyone for not offering condolences – but.

But.

“Thanks,” Stiles said.

“Go talk to him,” Henderson repeated. Stiles sighed, unable to avoid it, then straightened his shoulders and walked over to Theo. “He lost her too, you know.” Stiles heard Henderson, but he ignored the man’s words – because Theo didn’t _care._ Why would he?

Heather had been Stiles’ friend. Looking back – carefully, objectively, Theo hadn’t given a single _shit_ about her. He’d been happier when she _wasn’t_ around. When – when it was just the two of them.

And then Scott came to town.

“Didn’t expect you to come here,” Theo said, when Stiles was close enough to hear. Stiles skirted his eyes around the room, taking in how little the place had changed over the last decade(ish), then let them settle on Theo once he’d run out of other things to look at.

Stiles let out a slow breath. “Like I said,” His lips twisted, as he paused. “Nostalgia.”

“They were good times, weren’t they?” Theo asked. Siles looked away, at the pool, and remembered –

Yeah. Stiles hated it, hated to admit it – but yes. They had been.

Theo seemed to get what Stiles was thinking, by the way he smiled, and from the corner of Stiles’ eye it looked – soft, almost. Genuine, if anything Theo ever does could be called that.

And maybe Stiles is only hesitant to say those two words with any sort of certainty because he doesn’t want to… give any credence to the idea that Theo might not be ‘all bad’, give any benefit of the doubt, because – because he knows. He knows Theo’s a murderer. The problem is that Stiles is, too. And Stiles knows his smile can be soft, when looking at the right person. And he knows he’s genuine, about most things.

The thing is.

Lies are genuine. Not everything genuine means anything _good._

“Stay here,” Theo said, and he jogged off. Stiles… hesitated, but he did – walked over to the edge of the pool’s basin and dropped his legs down the sharp slope. He looked at the other, scattered skaters – about five of them. It was a big hall, where the pool had supposed to be – and with so few people in here, it felt… empty. Strange.

Theo returned. Stiles stood, turned around.

“Here,” He said, holding out a skateboard. “Like old times, right?”

Stiles had a flash of memory; of Theo, standing here, at the edge of this very basin, holding out his own skateboard because Stiles’ crappy old one snapped in half on the rim of the pool. He’d gone crashing to the floor, but with the resilience and boundless energy of a young child he’d gotten right back up again, no injuries to be found – and Theo had laughed at him, sure, but he’d given him his skateboard. He was getting a new one that week, anyway.

Stiles probably still had it, somewhere. Missing wheel and scuff marks and all.

(The uh – the missing wheel had happened later.)

Theo was looking at him, expectantly. Smirking, like the fucking bastard that he is.

Stiles took the board.

“Given how long it’s been,” Theo started. “Fuck off,” Stiles said. It had been a while, but Stiles wasn’t one to forget skills like this. Theo grinned, nodded, then dropped his board to the floor, stopped it with his foot on the end of the deck.

“Go on then,” Theo said. Stiles got on with it.

* * *

Stiles stared at the clear marker board. They were no closer than they’d been before, really. Nowhere near anything even resembling ‘closer’. Honestly, lately, Stiles feels like they’re falling further and further behind.

There is a thud, and then Malia strides over. She halts beside him, and the distance between them is noticeable and yawning in a way he wouldn’t have pinpointed as a problem before…

All this.

Malia sighed. Stiles looked over to her, at her profile; the way her lashes brushed against her cheek, just, when her eyes closed – the tired tilt to her lips, the way her eyebrows were pulled down.

Stiles looked away.

“Where were you, yesterday?” Malia asked.

_I could ask the same of you,_ Stiles thought. He bit his tongue. Waited a moment, long enough so that he could control the words he’d say, then spoke.

“I went to the skate park,” He admitted. “I… I used to have a friend who liked to hang out there.”

“Theo skates.” Malia turned to look at him, gaze piercing.

“Her name was Heather.” Stiles looked at Malia. “She died a couple years ago.”

Malia winced. Stiles didn’t mean it like that.

“What happened?” She asked.

“Darach,” Stiles said, looking back at the clear board, which had nothing more on it than before. Malia followed his gaze, and her eyes were drawn not towards the returned _who is the desert wolf,_ but rather the blatant _Theo Raeken,_ situated near all the question marks.

“Dark druid,” Stiles added. “She… used Heather as a – as a sacrifice for more power. ‘Cause she was a virgin. And – an easy target.”

Stiles swallowed. _If he’d been faster…_

But he hadn’t.

Malia reached over, took his hand and laced her fingers with his. She squeezed, lightly.

Stiles squeezed back.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Malia tells him. He knows she says this because she can scent his guilt – he probably reeks of it. Stiles wishes sometimes she’d pretend she couldn’t do that, but Malia’s not the sort to lie.

He likes that about her. He… also doesn’t.

(She’s not the sort to lie. If she does, Stiles… wouldn’t know her tells.)

“Well,” Stiles said, “We were about to have sex, so…”

Malia nods. “Oh.” She looks over at him. “Bad timing, then.”

“Very.” Stiles sighed. He let go of her hand, and she let him – Stiles walked over to the desk chair, grabbed the sheet and threw it over the board.

He closed his eyes, momentarily.

Malia’s phone rang.

“I should take this,” Malia said, and then she was gone out of the window before he could blink.

Stiles pressed his lips together. He stood in the centre of his room, listless and adrift, and wondered what she was keeping from him.

Was it anything like what he was keeping from her?

* * *

It was the weekend.

“We’re doing something,” Scott said, firmly. “We haven’t had the chance to in ages.”

So, here Stiles was, breaking into the ice-rink like he’s sixteen and Allison’s still alive, using the key he’d cloned from Boyd’s old set, before he died, too.

God.

Stiles walked inside the rink. It was the same as he remembered it.

Lydia and Malia and Kira and Scott all followed inside, at something of an amble. Stiles just wanted to get this over with, and he’d never thought he’d think that about hanging out with his friends before, but, here he was, tired already.

Scott talked and smiled and Kira talked and smiled and Stiles cracked jokes that people laughed at and Malia smiled at him, too careful, and Stiles smiled back, too soft, and Lydia spun circles around them on the ice as Stiles laughed at Scott falling on his ass.

They had a good time.

But Stiles was just… tired. Still. Already.

Stiles drifted off of the rink, stopped himself at the edge and dropped down onto the first bench.

Malia followed.

“Tired?” She asked.

“Sort-of,” Stiles said. “You?”

Malia nodded. She leaned into his side, head on his shoulder, and watched Lydia attempt to coach Scott into having some form of ability. It wasn’t really working.

Stiles placed an arm around Malia’s shoulder, and took in the scene of their friends. Happy. Having fun.

He’d appreciate this memory later, when it all fell to shit. Stiles is sure of that, at least.

“Stiles…” Malia trailed off.

“What?” Stiles asked, tilting his head to look at her, inquisitively.

Her expression shifted, unreadable.

“Nothing,” Malia said, and Stiles did something very uncharacteristic:

He let her drop it.

* * *

“You need to talk to her.”

Stiles looked to his left. Theo was standing – then sitting, as he slid onto the bench next to Stiles. Most people had conversations looking at each other, and the bench opposite was empty – but Stiles didn’t question it. Knowing Theo, that’d be a smirk and something Stiles doesn’t want to unpack right now. It’s lunchtime. Stiles has math next. He _cannot_ be bothered.

“What?” Stiles asked. Theo waited, patiently, then Stiles got what he meant and scowled at his – cafeteria mush. Stiles doesn’t want to know what that is, either. “We _talk.”_ Stiles shouldn’t have snapped like that. It sounded defensive, which is – both unacceptable, to be on the defensive in a conversation with Theo and… probably because it was.

“Suit yourself.” Theo dug into his mystery meat – Stiles _really doesn’t want to know –_ and they sat, eating in silence.

It was quite the opposite of comfortable.

“Where are the others?” Theo asked.

Stiles didn’t know.

“Elsewhere,” Stiles said, “Leading their own busy lives. Packs don’t have to be next to each other every second of every day, you know.”

“I just would’ve thought you’d know where your friends are,” Theo said, lifting a hand in the universal sign of ‘don’t shoot’.

“I’m not their _keeper,”_ Stiles snapped, stood, and walked away. He shoved the unappetising food into the bin and then put the tray where it was supposed to go, then left the cafeteria as quickly as possible.

Theo wasn’t far behind. He caught up to Stiles halfway down the hall, and Stiles couldn’t tell him to go away, because they were in the same math class. Theo would just say something worthy of the ‘asshole’ label, and Stiles would feel angry all lesson, which is entirely counterproductive to doing equations. He’d end up breaking his pencil. Or his calculator.

Probably both.

“Did you do the homework?” Theo asked. Stiles is almost startled by the normalcy of the question.

“Yes,” Stiles said, shortly. Theo nodded, apparently unperturbed by Stiles’ attitude, but then – Theo didn’t seem to mind it in general, and the angrier Stiles got the weirder Theo’s reactions were. Stiles didn’t _get_ him, and he didn’t want to, because he _hated him,_ but god, Stiles just wanted to know why he was doing _any of this._

They arrive at the classroom, and Stiles can put it out of his mind because Theo’s seat is on the other side of the room, three rows behind Stiles’.

(Stiles can practically _feel_ him watching him the whole time. When he goes to throw away some useless paper, he catches Theo’s eye, and the guy just _smirks._

Bastard.)

* * *

Stiles stared at the wall, Malia’s breaths hitting the back of his neck as she slept on, and wondered if this was worth it.

Too late to back down, now, though, Stiles knew. He’d not just killed Donovan, he’d covered it up. And to put the rotten cherry on the shitty cake, he’d covered up Josh’s death, too. Stiles had, almost accidentally, put his lot in with _Theo,_ of all people.

It wasn’t worth it, he knows. Stiles adjusts his t-shirt’s collar, paranoid Malia will see the scarring bite and wonders not for the first time if she already has, and just hasn’t said anything about it.

Stiles wishes she would, if just to get it over with. He’s in too deep and far too paranoid to tell her, now, so long after it happened.

And maybe he deserves his secrets. Malia has her own, after all. You don’t need to know _everything_ about – the person you’re dating. The person you live with. Sleep with, literally and – sexually.

_Right,_ Stiles thought. _Time to shut up now._

Stiles tried, he did, but the sky had grown lighter before he fell asleep. He’d have a shit day at school in a couple of hours, he thought, morosely, as his eyes closed, properly, and he slipped under, into unconsciousness.

* * *

Malia had seen the bite, by the way. Long before that night. Stiles wishes she’d said something, then. Maybe it could’ve helped. Or it might have made things worse.

At the point she brings it up, they both have things to feel guilty for.

(But that’s not yet.

We’re not even close to then.)


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Go on," Stiles said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to write this without the timeline as reference - the one on teenwolfwiki.com is much, much better than the one on the wikia, let me tell you that (it's finished, for one; the one on the Wikia doesn't have season five and a few other bits and pieces are missing, plus it's about as detailed as an essay on thermodynamics done by a three-year-old that hasn't learnt basic maths, and equally as understandable, aka... p much useless) sooooo I'm not mentioning specific events yet, and I'm actually not sure where we are in the timeline right now,,,, except you know, it's before they know for certain that Theo's a lying asshole. I'm a professional fanfic author, I promise... ack, please stop having internal server errors, tw wiki, that'd be amazing. I don't have an eidetic memory, I need the timeline for reference,,,, fingers crossed this chapter isn't terrible??

It's not quiet, by any means, but while people _are_ dying left right and centre, it's not something they know about until _after_ the fact. They're not right in the thick of it just yet - well, the rest of them. Stiles still had two very fresh memories of very dead bodies burned into his retina. He's pretty lucky, he thought, for a given value of luck, that nobody'd figured him out yet. Lydia was suspicious about his injury - and who wouldn't be, frankly, because if he hit his shoulder with the Jeep's hood it would've just bruised, and not really lingered this long in terms of being _fucking painful -_ and Malia was...

Well. You know.

Scott and Kira were doing well, as it stands, and the runt and his pals were also doing just fine, and they're all, well, _not_ _dying_. So that's a plus. 

Maybe the fact that they were teetering on that edge, about to fall into the cavernous depths of _oh shit, we're all dying again -_ maybe that fact is the only reason nobody had noticed what's really going on with him. They're just too busy trying to keep their balance steady, that they haven't noticed Stiles has already fallen off the cliff, helpfully pulled over the edge by Theo's clawed hand digging into his leg, like how it ripped into Josh's neck. 

Stiles winced. Malia frowned at him. Stiles winced again.

On the clear board was... nothing more than they'd had before, except now there were more question marks, and Stiles' handwriting was getting more erratic in his annoyance. He just wanted - _something,_ just a single fucking clue would be _amazing,_ because right now all they've got is what they already had.

_‘Who is the desert wolf?’_ is still on the board. A line goes to _Corrine,_ to _Peter's ex,_ to _Assassin,_ to _Malia's birth mother,_ to _werecoyote - losing powers?_ More lines go out, but towards nothing, the blank empty spots where information for the mind-map should go taunting him, laughing at Stiles, pushing him ever closer to just picking up his bat and _going at it,_ just smashing the damn thing to pieces so it can't sit there, innocuously empty, in the middle of his room. Taunting. Waiting. Stiles is _sick_ of waiting, but there's nothing else to _do._

Just wait, and hope, and fucking pray to whatever you (don't) believe in that nobody, fucking _nobody,_ figures out Stiles is a murderer that's aiding and abetting another one. Because he was in too deep, now, to just up and admit what happened. He's covered up too much. He's made himself _guilty._ It's - maybe still self-defence, but Stiles erased the evidence, Theo's un-accusing eyes watching the halls as he did so.

…Scott's eyes feel accusing when he looked at Stiles, these days. They're not, of course, because Stiles is just too good at lying to him, but they feel it because Stiles feels guilty. And guilt makes him nervous, and his nerves mix _so well_ with his anxiety, and - and being the way that he is, having that problem, it has always reacted poorly with his mindset - it made him angry. And then he punched things, and Scott looked at him all concerned, and then we're back to square one because that concerned gaze just feels _accusing_. 

Stiles worried at his bottom lip with his teeth, as Malia fiddled with a marker pen.

_Dread Doctors_ burned holes in Stiles' retinas, words he's seen across the back of his eyelids while he tries half-heartedly to fall asleep with Malia. Sometimes he manages to before she leaves. 

It's... pointless to try, once she's gone; he's gotten too used to her presence. So, he doesn't.

_???_ is all he sees around it, lines that lead nowhere, the names of dead people - and the one that is glaringly missing - running circles around his mind, and Stiles isn't able to connect any of it. He's just about ready to bribe his way into their fucking _birth certificates_ and _medical records_ just to see if there's _some kind of connection,_ **somewhere,** between the victims. Fuck it, he's halfway decided to break into wherever he could get at them and just take them without permission. He really is, because they're so close, they're just missing _something._ Something Stiles knows is _important,_ and not just because it connects the victims. Because it can help them predict who might be _next._

Malia got a text, and then her eyes widened, enough for Stiles to notice. She doesn't even bother saying goodbye, today; she just jumped out the window. Malia's gone before Stiles can blink, and she's not anywhere to be seen when he leant outside.

Stiles sighed then shut the window - left it unlocked because she might come back, later - and then went to sit on his desk chair and try and use the Sheriff's station's database to find - something. Anything. Just _something_ he could add to the board. So he doesn't feel _useless_.

* * *

Malia tapped Stiles on the shoulder, which made him wince. She looked at him, a brief flash of - something, but mostly just concerned. "It still hurts?" She asked.

Stiles nodded.

"You should have it looked at," Malia said. "You wanna go home?"

Stiles looked around the library and realised - it's gone dark out. Already.

"Oh," He said. "Yeah, sure."

They left the library in near-total silence. Something felt off about it, not as comfortable as their silence had once been, not too long ago - and that's the power of secrets, Stiles thought. Especially when you're both aware of your mutual dishonesty.

Stiles hopped up onto the driver's seat, as Malia moved around the car to the other side. He heard her door shut on the fourth try of the ignition.

"You should really get that looked at," Malia said. "One of these days -"

"I know." Stiles got the car started, then put the screwdriver back in his pocket. Malia didn’t finish her sentence, and Stiles sighed, looking out of the front windshield. "Mal-"

"Did you bandage it?" Malia asked. "Your shoulder? At least - disinfectant?"

... He hadn't. Stiles rolled his shoulder, ignored the twinge, the pull of the scarred skin.

"It was just the jeep's hood, Malia," Stiles said, not as softly as he meant to. "I put ice on it."

Malia looked away, out of the window on her right. "Right," She said.

Stiles closed his eyes, as he reached over to put the car into gear, just for a moment. "It's not so bad," He said. "Just -"

"I know it wasn't your jeep, Stiles," Malia said, not sharply, but - quick. Stiles' hand stopped, hovering just over the top of the gearstick. It shook.

Malia turned her head to face his.

"I've seen it," Malia said, echoing the start to some of his nightmares. "The bite on your shoulder."

Stiles found he couldn’t quite breathe. It wasn’t yet a panic attack, but it was close. Malia put her hand on his, then laced their fingers. Her breathing was soft, but deliberately loud, and he tried to pace his own, parallel to her's, tightly controlled. It worked, at minimum; enough to stave off something a long time coming, but not enough to do much else.

Stiles didn’t want to do Malia the disservice of not feeling comfort from her presence, but the traitorous part of himself that's been in control, lately, the one that wonders where she is, most nights, the one that didn't tell her what happened, the one that tries to voice thoughts he has to bite his tongue against - it makes itself known, and his hand doesn't stop shaking beyond what Malia's strength forced it to do.

"You knew."

"I guessed." Malia looked over. "I saw it when you were sleeping. It was Donovan, wasn't it?"

Stiles closed his eyes again, so he doesn't have to look in her's when he nodded, confirming, or maybe just affirming her suspicions. Maybe she knew. Maybe she'd never needed him to tell her.

... Maybe she hadn't cared, either way, if he had or he hadn't.

"It didn't matter to me," Malia explains. "That's why I never said anything. But I can't - I can't sit by while you beat yourself up for it. Stiles -"

"It matters to _me,_ " Stiles' mouth moves without his permission, words spilling forth that he can't force his voicebox to _choke_ on.

"... Is that why you didn't tell me?" Malia asked.

"No." Stiles doesn't extrapolate. He can't. He can't sit here, in the car, can't feel her hand in his while attempting to explain what happened with Donovan. He can tell Theo everything, but he can't bring himself to even say a single _sentence_ about it to Malia, his own _girlfriend._ Stiles is the worst sort of person. He really is. He's a _hypocrite._

It requires at least some level of trust, to tell someone this sort of thing. And Stiles hates Theo, with every fibre of his being, but apparently, he trusts him. More than he trusts his best friend, or his own girlfriend, and isn't _that_ telling?

Stiles doesn't trust Theo. Not to be anything that he said he is, not to be on their side, not to care about any of them beyond his secret plans, because Stiles can just tell he has them. No. Stiles trusts Theo in perhaps the worst way; with _himself._ With his own secrets. With the things he can't bring himself to _think,_ let alone _say._ Stiles trusts Theo with the _truth,_ and Stiles is the sort of person who's dad said ' _I haven't trusted a word out of his mouth since he was a kid'_ without any hesitation, as a not-quite-joke, because the best humour is found in truth. And it's true. Noah trusts Scott's word more than Stiles', and Stiles knows that. He's known that for a long time; Stiles is a liar. It's a fact.

But he doesn't - or at least, hasn't had the chance to - lie to _Theo._ Of all people.

Malia lets go of his hand.

"I couldn't tell anyone." Stiles wasn’t lying; he didn't tell Theo. Theo found out on his own. Because of Malia, in a way, and isn't that funny? She sent Theo to check up on Stiles at the library. She didn't call Stiles or text him, or anything like that. Didn't come herself, or send one of Stiles' actual friends. Malia trusts Theo, too, and Stiles isn't sure what her reason is, beyond not really believing Stiles when he said Theo isn't worthy of anything, let alone trust. Maybe Theo is the same Theo as Stiles remembers, even though Stiles doesn't want him to be. Maybe he is. That doesn't mean anything, in the end, because even if he is - he's changed so much since then. They're practically two wholly different people. And Malia shouldn't trust him as far as she could throw him, and she can throw him very far, Stiles imagines. She shouldn't give Theo that much leeway, no-one should.

(But they all have, in their own ways, and Stiles regularly beats himself up about it. Ah, mental self-flagellation. The most 'fun' of all the pastimes.)

"It was self-defence," Malia said. "If someone's trying to kill you, you aren't wrong for stopping them."

Stiles pulled out of the carpark. It wasn't a question, so he didn’t reply. Malia sighed.

"I found my mother." Stiles glanced at her. He was right; she was keeping things from him.

"And?" Stiles asked. She was keeping things from him, but he’d been doing the same in return.

Stiles turns right, down past the station. There aren't any other cars nearby, and it's quieter than usual. It feels cold. Uncomfortable. But the former three things might just be the time of year, and the latter... well.

"I'm working with Braeden." Malia looked to the right; Stiles couldn’t see her expression from the corner of his eye, anymore. He wondered what she's thinking. And why she chose to hide it.

"We're going to lure her here," Malia said, simply. "And kill her," She continued, frankly.

"Oh."

Malia looked his way, again. "Do you think I'm a bad person?" She asked.

" _No,_ " Stiles said, emphatically. Malia looked straight ahead again. "But it's murder, isn't it?" She asked. "To bring her here. To want her dead. That's murder."

"... Yes." Stiles flexed his grip on the steering wheel, tightened his hold on the gearstick. "It is."

"So, if I don't care," Malia said, "That you defended yourself. And I want my mother six feet under. And I'm not a bad person... how are you one?"

Stiles frowned. He looked at her.

"How would you feel," Stiles said, "After she's dead? When you're looking at her body. If you had to watch her, the life bleeding out of her eyes, while she stares at you - unblinking - could you do it?"

Malia considered this. "I don't know," She admitted. "And I won't until she's here, and I can try."

"Do you want to?" He asked.

"I have to."

"Then you aren't a murderer." Stiles pulled into the driveway. "You want her dead because she wants you dead. It's not a want, really. It's a need. Self-preservation, survival. Pre-mediated it might be, but it's still self-defence."

"How did it happen, with Donovan?"

"He tried to kill me," Stiles started. "Had a hold on my leg. I was halfway up the scaffolding in the library - and I had one option, really, unless I wanted to be cannibalised. So I pulled the pin, that was holding up all the beams, and they fell. One skewered him right through. I dropped down, went over, and - my phone was in his pocket. So - so I went to get it, but he coughed up blood, looked right at me, and I - I held onto the beam as he died. Just, I just _watched."_

Stiles' hand was shaking again. "I could've done something." Stiles looked straight ahead. "I didn't."

"That doesn't sound like murder to me," Malia said, gently.

"You don't _get it,"_ Stiles said, forcefully, then winced.

"Then help me to," Malia said, but it's - quick, again. Short.

"I can't." Stiles shook his head. "I don't - I don't know how to..."

"You're not a bad person," Malia said, "For being happy you aren't dead, and that the person who was trying to eat you _is._ "

"It wasn't relief, Malia." Stiles looked at her. "It..." He looked away again because he can't - it feels like his throat closed around the words he wants to say, with her face in view, eyes central and focused and much too knowing, but not understanding _enough._

And he hates, vehemently, for a moment, that he could explain all of this to someone else in one word; _good._ Hates himself for it, mostly, but hates Theo for it, too.

"Do you want me to stay?" Malia asked. Stiles can't sleep without her, not easily. 

Stiles nodded. Malia exited the car, and it took a minute for Stiles to follow. They went upstairs, got ready for bed, and Stiles stared at the wall while Malia fell asleep behind him.

She leaves at six in the morning, and Stiles watches her go. She doesn't say goodbye.

* * *

Stiles skipped school.

He spent the morning, instead, at Beacon Hills’ library, on his non-sanctioned sheriff's station laptop, the one with access to the database. He trawled through it looking for backdoors into ways of getting a hold of the victims' information; mostly medical records. There could be something there - after all; dread _doctors._ It's not much, but it's an _idea,_ and Stiles is fresh out of those, if he doesn't follow this one. But they're not young enough, any of the victims, for this to be easy when he gets a hold of the records (if he gets a hold of the records, but Stiles is trying for positivity, here) - he's going to have to trawl through over fifteen years of medical information for each individual victim… over twenty for Donovan, as an example. Still.

Stiles had nothing else to go on.

It's something - if nothing else, at least it's a distraction. Stiles doesn't want to think about why he skipped school today, doesn't want to think about his 'talk' with Malia, doesn't want to think about anything other than databases and medical jargon and the notes he has already gathered on the victims (which is not much) and the Doctors (even less). 

Stiles sighed, rubbed at his eyes. Someone cleared their throat to his left, and - oh.

It's just Lydia.

Stiles looked at the time, as he closed the laptop - midday. Lunch. Hence why Lydia isn't in school right now. Hence why Stiles should skedaddle, in case any of the rest of the people he knows decide to drop by and ruin his good little research bubble of avoiding his personal problems and focusing on the bigger issues. Like all the people that keep dying.

"You weren't in homeroom." Lydia stared him down. It wasn’t as effective as it used to be, Stiles noted, absently. "And Theo said you weren't in the lessons he has with you, and Scott hasn't seen you all day, and Malia's being very cagey, lately, when I can pin her down for a chat - and she was _especially_ cagey today in Math. Barely got a word out of her before she fled."

Stiles nodded. "Okay?" He said, a questioning, leading lilt.

"Why weren't you in school, Stiles?" Lydia demanded. "We can't afford - if we miss days now, when things start going bad -"

"I know," Stiles said. "I know."

Lydia sighed. She slid into the chair opposite. "What have you found?" She asked.

"Nothing much," Stiles said, "Funny, but medical records are locked up pretty tight. It'll take me a bit longer to crack in there." Stiles sighed. "God, times like these you miss our ex-resident hacker friend."

Lydia smiled. "Danny never liked you," She reminded him.

"He didn't need to," Stiles said, dismissively. "Now. You're very, very smart-"

"You want me to read through what you find, don't you?" Lydia looked flatly at him, then - shook her head, something of a fond expression on her face. "Alright."

"Great," Stiles said. "I'll text you when I find something."

Lydia nodded. "Maybe some other day," She said, firmly. "We should go back to -"

"I wasn't in homeroom, if I go in now, they're just going to ask _more_ questions," Stiles said, "It'd be a total mess. I'll come in tomorrow, don't worry, Lyds."

Lydia sighed. She nodded, though, relenting, and stood. "I need to get back," She said. "But it looks like you won't be alone over lunch, anyway." Stiles glanced where her gaze was aimed, and then sighed in great annoyance. A smile played at Lydia's mouth, which Stiles greatly resented.

"Hey," Theo said.

"Hey, Theo," Stiles replied, with great distaste.

"I'll see you boys later," Lydia said, the smile still playing at appearing properly on her face. She left quickly, and Stiles waited until the door shut before turning back to the laptop. Not that he'd open it up again, not with _him_ here.

Theo dropped into the chair next to Stiles'. Stiles stopped fiddling with his phone.

"So, what were you looking for?" Theo asked, quietly, leaning in, annoyingly, under the false pretence of being quiet in a library.

Stiles leaned back, on his chair, for the space that gave. "Links," He said, simply. "Between the victims."

Theo nodded. He tapped the table, in an indication of the laptop, head inclined, cocked to the side in a vaguely animalistic way - curiosity. "Show me?"

Stiles pointed at the table - Theo turned his attention, thankfully, from Stiles' face to the pile of notes next to the laptop. "All there," Stiles said. "Everything I could find without getting caught."

A different sort of smile than the one Lydia was fighting played at the corner of Theo's mouth Stiles could see, what with his face turned away as he read through the notes Stiles had made. Stiles was glad of the fact he couldn't see his face, properly, but he also wasn't; Theo lied a lot, with his words, and most certainly did the same with his expressions - but it was less. You could somewhat more easily discern falsehood from his face than his voice, and Stiles was - eh. About that.

Theo was a good actor, unfortunately. Better than Stiles, at any rate, which was another advantage he had. Stiles wasn't really winning on that scale, and frankly, he wasn't winning on any other scale, either. It was kind of depressing in a frustrating, maddening, angering way.

"It's not much," Theo said.

"It's not." Stiles agreed. "Hence what I was doing now before everyone decided to interrupt."

Theo leaned back, held up his hands in the universal sign of surrender - but in that half-heartedly, don't shoot the messenger type of way. It also didn't really work because he didn't have any weapons to not display, by raising his hands; his hands _were_ the weapons, what with being a werewolf and having _claws,_ and also the other stuff. Super-strength, glowing eyes, fangs. The whole nine yards.

"Lydia wanted to check on you," Theo said, "I just volunteered to keep you company, and bring you lunch." Theo picked up his bag, and deposited a brown paper bag on Stiles' lap.

Fast food. Huh.

"Just for the energy," Theo said, "But you should have something better, later."

"Hah," Stiles said, and opened the bag out of pure curiosity. Curly fries, a beef burger, and a soda; coke. Stiles looked at Theo, suspiciously.

"It's not poisoned," Theo said. He'd leant back on his chair, and he was smirking, again, the bastard. Was that his default expression, or something? Probably. Stiles rarely saw him without one tugging at the corner of his mouth, making him look all smug and asshole-ish.

"You wouldn't be stupid enough to try," Stiles said, "Everyone would know immediately it was you."

"Thanks," Theo said. Stiles hadn't meant to compliment him, damn it. Because it _hadn't_ been a compliment; **nobody** would be stupid enough to poison the person who they'd volunteered, in front of that person's friends, to get food for. That'd just be moronic. 

"Wasn't a compliment," Stiles told him.

Theo rolled his eyes. "Eat your burger," He said. Stiles closed his hand around the bag, the paper crinkling loudly in his fist. "Why didn't you just grab something from the cafeteria?"

"At least we know how that's going to kill you," Theo said, "Not now, and not unless you have a lot of it. Cafeteria food, on the other hand, is like a roulette wheel. You _literally_ don't know what it is."

Okay, fine, that was a perfectly valid reason, Stiles will give him that.

"Alright, fine, whatever," Stiles said, and Theo's smirk deepened. "We're in the library, though."

"So pack up and eat outside," Theo said, shrugging. "Might as well have a break, now, anyway."

Stiles hesitated, but, well, fuck it. He put the bag on the table, picked up the laptop and his notes, and then shoved them unceremoniously into his back-pack. He stood, grabbed the paper bag, and turned towards the door, at the same time as Theo rose from his chair.

Stiles left the building first. Main Street was - well, the main street, and had a fair few places to sit down, so Stiles found the nearest bench and dropped onto it. He was going to return to the library anyway, right after eating, so there was no point in making the treck any longer than absolutely necessary.

Theo sat down next to him, once again, on the bench. Stiles dropped his bag between them, just - for... safety. A barrier. Anyway - Stiles took the food out of the paper bag, along with the drink, and set about having his lunch. Theo took out his own bag of food, and it was silent while they ate. Stiles was glad of this, because, a, he was hungry and - b, well, he... wasn't very good at talking to Theo. Frankly. He just, he got angry, which wasn't conducive towards getting information out of him. And he got defensive, which was even _worse_ , and sometimes, rarely, Theo got - **weirder** than usual. Like that night, when they were attempting to fix the CCTV footage to hide their presence and what they had done. His - _proposition_ , which Stiles has not so much forgotten about as forcefully suppressed in the back of his head. Partially because - well. Theo had offered the same to Malia, as well. 

Whatever was going on in his head, Stiles knew these 'offers' were just a tactic, nothing more, nothing less, though towards what end, Stiles doesn't know. He can't hope to get an in with the pack, that way, because - cheating. Not good. So yeah. Stiles doesn't think about it, because then he might end up obsessing over the _why._

"I think we should come up with a story," Theo said. "Something to cover Donovan. And something to cover Josh. That keeps with what we've told people already."

Stiles sighed, but nodded, because, as much as he hates to admit it, Theo's right. They need to corroborate their alibis.

"Go on," Stiles said.

"I'll take the fall," Theo said. "If it comes to it. It's more believable, anyway, and it gets the others off your back."

"More believable?" Stiles... well, asked, but - it was closer to _demanded_.

"Well," Theo smirked, slightly, "Out of the three people involved, you were the only one without any supernatural abilities. And none of them wants to think of you as capable of something like that."

Which should be a nice thought, that his friends don't think he's some homicidal asshole, but - instead, despite himself, despite everything, it _rankles._ The thought people wouldn't think him capable, even though he knows that, at least in part, Theo isn't correct in what he's saying. Whether it's a lie or a severe misreading of the situation on his part, Stiles knows the others know he can fight. Or at least, he hopes they do.

At the very least, they know that someone with the right mindset and his body can be - very dangerous. The nogitsune only rarely used anything other than trickery, tactics and traps to hurt them. Using his superior strength was a rarity - almost like he'd thought it was cheating, or something. Stiles still hadn't figured it out, and he'd had a lot of sleepless nights to think on it.

Stiles mentally shuddered and turned his thoughts to other topics.

"Right," Stiles said, but it didn't come out properly. Theo's ever-present smirk slid off his face, somewhat, and he looked at Stiles very seriously. "It's a good thing to be underestimated," He said. "But they should. You're not a weak person, Stiles. You've kept up with all of us, after all. And not many people can survive a possession, let alone come out on top."

Stiles didn't look at him. "Right." Stiles took a bite from his burger. "Well."

Alright, so he didn't know what to say to that. It was like - like the other times. _I came back for you. Even if you don't like me, I'll still be looking out for you._

Stiles closed his eyes, for a moment, against the glare of the midday sun.

"... that was a compliment," Theo said, simply.

"Was it really?" Stiles said, rhetorically. "Because I _really_ want people to think I'm capable of _murder,_ that's very high on my list of priorities."

Theo scoffed. "Don't - you _know_ that's not what I meant, now you're just twisting my words."

"Maybe I am," Stiles said. "Maybe I'm not. I don't know what your angle is, alright? Happy? I can't _figure you out._ But I know you don't have any of our best interests at heart, I know it."

"I'm getting tired of telling you the same thing over and over again," Theo said, sharper in tone than he's said anything to Stiles, before. "I _mean what I say to you._ Can't you believe that, at least?"

"No," Stiles said, ruthlessly. "No, I can't."

"Won't," Theo challenged. "You _refuse._ You _could,_ if you just gave me a chance. But you _won't,_ because you're _scared._ You don't like that I _get it._ You don't like that I know what I know, you don't like that we're _similar._ You don't like that I came back to be part of Scott's pack. Well, guess what? There are a lot of packs out there. This was just the best choice. I knew the alpha, once, which means getting in would be easier, that's just a fact. But this pack - this is the _only pack_ that has _you in it,_ Stiles. I didn't have a choice, with that in mind."

"How did you even find out?" Stiles asked, exhausted with this already. Theo's right. They keep going in circles.

"You hear things," Theo said. "From people that pass through. There are a lot of supernatural people in this town that don't get involved in everything that happens here. And from them, word spreads across the country. It's the only way we get news."

"But you got bit," Stiles said, "And your alpha died. Who taught you?"

"I got lucky," Theo said. "A small pack, just a couple of people, was nearby. A family unit more than a pack, really; two werewolves, a druid and a human. Nothing special. But they taught me a bit about control and a bit about packs, and then sent me packing. I... well, I heard about the pack here, and then I heard what people were calling it, and then I heard about the Deadpool and the names on it - and I knew where Scott was, you wouldn't be far behind. And then I heard about the nogitsune, too, and it all sort of... fell into place. So I convinced my family to move back here. And here we are."

"Right," Stiles said, not believing anything that had just come out of Theo's mouth. "Sure."

Theo shrugged, but there was a sort of annoyance at the corners of his eyes, a tightness to his expression, clear as day. That last part was the clue Stiles needed to know how much of a falsehood this was, too; if he was really agitated and trying to hide it, he wouldn't broadcast it so loudly. Theo's a good actor, and good actors tend to hide what they're really feeling. Stiles isn't a very good actor, but he's good enough, and he does it all the time. And as much as he hates it, Theo is right; they are, in some ways, similar people. Not in all ways, not even in a lot of them - but in some. Perhaps the worse ones, if not the worst ones; Stiles is a liar, and he's killed people, but he doesn't lie to his friends about - or at least, in the way Theo does it. Stiles feels guilt. Theo... does not. At least, not noticeably. And Stiles doesn't try and manipulate people. Oh, sure, he's done his fair share of blackmail - but manipulation of the sort Theo tries his hand at crosses the line. Stiles has also, for one, never propositioned a person who's in a relationship.

That'd just be a shitty thing to do.

Stiles finished his burger. Theo finished his own.

"So," Theo said. "I'll take the fall," He continued.

"Why?" Stiles asked, "And - no bullshit about it being 'more believable'. Why?"

"You can't afford it," Theo said. "You're human. I'm not. Your dad can at least put aside going through human laws if it was a wholly supernatural deal that happened to involve your life, but he'd struggle a bit later on if he did it with just you."

Stiles knows his dad would do anything to help Stiles with this situation. That's a _problem._ He's the **Sheriff**. He _shouldn't_. That's - just... corrupt, for lack of a better word.

"Fine," Stiles said. "Fine."

Theo nodded. "And Josh," He said, then frowned. Stiles glanced over to where he was looking. Nothing. Stiles ate some curly fries, in the silence that followed Theo's frown; Stiles didn 'really want to be doing this right now, so, he wouldn't force it to happen when it wasn't. 

"The same would have to do," Theo concluded. "With your dad, at least."

Stiles nodded, uncomfortably. Theo was right, but Stiles wasn't looking forward to when they'd have to actually commit to what they were saying they'd say, if it needed to come up.

"Alright," Theo said. "We're good, there, then."

"Not really," Stiles said. "Not much of a choice, though."

"Not much," Theo echoed. Stiles made a noise, a sort-of-grunt, just to respond with something, as he finished up the curly fries.

"Alright," Theo said. And that was that, at least about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the AN at the beginning, folks! Hope you enjoyed the chapter, regardless of my difficulties in writing it :).
> 
> (Also - yes. We were closer to That Conversation between Stiles and Malia than I thought, whoops. They haven't /technically/ broken up, yet, though. They'll get better closure than in the show, damn it. At leat a more definite 'we broke up' than that confusing mess.)

**Author's Note:**

> turns out the (Teen Wolf) next to Scott's name is because there's another Scott McCall in 'the equalizer', I didn't know this until now, I feel dumb. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed??? This??? idk man u do you.


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